Tears Of Watching
by Readerchick2013
Summary: Eragon and Arya are kidnapped by one of King Galbatorix s generals. Will they survive? Will love find them? Will Sapphira get there in time? Read to find out...
1. The Dart

Eragon swung Brisingr around in a wide arc, cutting at the soldier approaching on his right. The man screamed and fell, but Eragon was already swinging again, this time at the spearmen that charged towards him, attempting to break the Varden's line. He heard Saphira's roar behind him as she too clashed with Galbatorix's army. They had been fighting for hours, Eragon was unsure exactly how long: the battle had begun to blur together.

He thought over the long series of events that had led up to this battle. After the triumph at Feinster the Varden had joined the elves at Gil'ead, and had claimed victory there as well. The two defeats, especially Gil'ead, had severely weakened Galbatorix's army, which had regrouped along the Toark river a few leagues above Leona lake. There, with the height of the mountains to their advantage, they would have been able to put up a stronger fight than before, had they been given enough time. But the Varden had closed in quickly, and, unprepared to fight again so soon, the Empire had again lost the battle. Their forces now thinned beyond immediate reconciliation, the Empire had retreated east to Urû'Baen, where it was rumored Galbatorix himself had come out to join them. The Varden had followed, and thus had started the present battle.

Strange, he thought, that the tide of a war could change so quickly. The Varden, only a short while ago in hiding from Galbatorix, now knocks on the door of Urû'baen and threatens to defeat his army. I wish Oromis and Glaedr could have seen this. They devoted their lives to the defeat of Galbatorix, only to fall to him. They gave their lives for the cause, and it has made such a difference. I wonder, will it be so for us? Will Saphira and I die in battle, perhaps even today? I've always thought that we would destroy the Empire and live on to see the results of our fighting, but is it for us to live on? Should the time of the riders come again? Or will we fall, the last of our kind, so that this horror of a monarchy could not repeat itself?

Angela's words rang in his ears as loud as the battle around him.

"Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you will end up I know not, but you will never again stand in Alagaesia. This is inescapable. It will come to pass even if you try to avoid it."

Will Saphira and I leave for the realms of death?

Then he shook his head.

Such morbid thoughts! I'm beginning to sound like Blagden, with endless, circling riddles and no answers!

His thoughts were interrupted as a familiar presence touched his mind. Quickly as he could, he let Arya through his barriers.

Eragon? She sounded worried.

Arya? Are you all right?

For the moment. I could use your help, though.

What's going on?

The Varden pulled back over here. I got caught in a circle of Empire soldiers, who are apparently enjoying my inability to leave. I'd appreciate some assistance.

I'll be right there.

Eragon reached out to Saphira's mind and quickly explained the situation.

It doesn't sound too bad. Stay here and hold the line, I'll be back soon.

Be careful, little one.

I will. Don't worry. I'll be back in a few minutes.

Closing his mind again, he began to work his way across the field, fighting as he went, to where he knew Arya was. Coming over a small rise he spotted her. She was about two hundred yards away, and surrounded by at least a dozen soldiers. Pressing into the battle again, he moved closer.

That's odd, he thought. Why so many? Only four or five would be enough, yet while their comrades struggle at the front lines, their commanders seem content to allow them all to waste their time surrounding an elf. Almost as if they had special orders…

But he didn't have time to think it through any further. He had reached the outside of the group and swung at the soldier on his right. The man blocked and raised his sword to attack, but Eragon was too quick and cut at his side. The man let out a yell, and, stumbling backwards into one of his companions, created a hole in the circle that was big enough for Eragon to slip through. In a second he slid in beside Arya, parrying a blow aimed at her head.

"It's good to see you!" Arya said, spinning around to deflect a spear. "I was beginning to wonder…"

"I got here as fast as I could. The fighting's pretty bad out there."

"How do you think it is in here?"

"Yeah, I noticed- Ow!"

Eragon reached up to his neck, and was surprised to feel what appeared to be a small dart. He pulled it out and examined it, wondering how it had gotten through his wards.

"Ow!"

Eragon glanced up to see Arya holding a similar dart, looking confused. It was only then that he realized the fighting had stopped. Looking around, he saw that the soldiers were standing back, weapons at their sides, looking smug. Somehow this didn't bother him.

Odd, he thought, that should bother me, shouldn't it? Oh well…

It was all too confusing. He felt a wave of nausea overtake him. He looked over to Arya, who was staring at him, looking troubled. He was about to ask her what was wrong, when she disappeared. There was a hard blow to his back, and then all he could see was sky. He must have fallen… Then her face appeared in his vision. Troubled had changed to something else. Scared?

"Eragon? Can you hear me?"

She sounded strange. Her voice echoed in his head. She looked strange, come to think of it. Every thing did. Had the sky always been that weird orange color?

He watched as Arya collapsed onto the ground beside him.

And then everything was black.


	2. The Threat

Eragon's head was pounding, the swells of pain seeming to match tempo with the beating of his heart. He let out a low groan, and reached to rub his temples. Or at least he tried to. A few inches from his head, his hands stopped. He tried again, with the same result. His mind was clearing slightly now, enough for him to question his predicament. Such as why he had been sleeping on his feet, hands above his head? He opened his eyes slowly, squinting slightly even in the dim light.

He was in a large stone room, stone walls, stone floor, and a huge, cold fireplace. The room was lit only by a few torches, but that was no hindrance to his elf-like senses. There were chains hanging from the walls at various locations. His wrists were locked in a set of these. They started shackled to one wrist, then ran through two brackets a few feet apart, a foot above his head, then down to his other wrist. It was fashioned in such a way so that he could not touch one hand with the other, and his hands hung at about the level of his ears. Also in the room were a long, wooden table, nicked and marked, and a wooden post, perhaps eight feet tall, with chains hanging down from the top.

All this he observed carefully, until he looked closely at the post. Or more at what was standing beside the post, bound by the chains.

"Arya!"

Arya's head snapped up.

"Eragon, you're awake! I had been waiting. I woke up a while ago, not sure how long; it's hard to time in this blasted cell. How do you feel?"

"Like I butted heads with a Kull."

Arya grimaced sympathetically. "I felt the same, but it fades."

"Do you know where we are?"

She shook her head. "I have not seen or heard anyone. But judging by our accommodations, I would guess underground, in the dungeons of Urû'baen."

He nodded. It made sense. They had been fighting only miles from the city; it was the logical place to bring a prisoner. His head was clearing slightly, the pain fading. He realized suddenly that he could get rid of the chains. He reached for the magic, but for some reason he couldn't find it. He tried again, and again he failed. He tried to even think of a spell, but realized to his dismay that he could remember nothing. He cursed.

"Don't bother," said Arya, who seemed to know what he had been trying. "That drug did more than knock us out. It must be similar to the one that Durza used at Gil'ead. I can't even reach outside of my mind."

Eragon close his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

"I can't believe I let this happen. Darts. Darts! I warded against spears, arrows, bolts, and a dart manages to get through. I'm such an idiot!"

"They had some sort of enchantment on them, Eragon, something we couldn't anticipate."

"This is all my fault…" he moaned. He had been so stupid! He had walked right into their trap. He had defeated Urgals, the Ra'zac, Durza, even held his own against Murtagh and Thorn, and here he was, captured by common soldiers and an enchanted dart.

"This is not all you fault. Notice we are both here. I was captured as well, my wards were lacking. I also made an error."

"But I should have caught it."

"What do you mean?"

Eragon looked up, realizing his mistake to late, and before he could recover, Arya understood.

"You had a ward over me?!"

He sighed. He had not told anyone that he protected of his wards, for fear of embarrassing, or, as in Arya's case, angering them. He also did not want them to refuse. He wanted to know that they were all as well protected as they needed to be, and the best way to do that was to do it himself.

"I- well, yes. But it's not just because you're- I mean-" He fumbled for words.

Arya cut in.

"I've told you before! I'm not one of your help-"

"Helpless human females. Yes, you have told me that." He had a defense now. "But I protect many on the battlefield, not just you! Nasuada, Orrin, Saphira, Orik, and Roran to name a few. Of those I protect, most are male, and I would not describe any of the females as helpless, would you?"

"No, I would not… But that is precisely the reason you should not have had a ward over me! Having that many wards had to drain your energy significantly. You were foolish to put a ward over me when you knew I was quite capable of creating them myself."

"It doesn't matter. Either way, this is my fault! What of Saphira and the Varden? If Saphira tries to rescue us she could end up being captured! I should have seen the trap. Oromis drilled it into me again and again! Look ahead, be wary of suspicious circumstances, never trust that the enemy is being foolish! I got us both captured. This is all my doing, my fault." He closed his eyes again, disgusted with himself.

"Eragon, you're being ridiculous. Saphira and Nasuada both know the consequences of anyone attempting a rescue without backup. They know that if Saphira is captured, it will not only make things much worse for the Varden, but will also most likely ruin any chance of our escaping alive. I was the one who asked for you help, I should have seen the trap as well. Blaming yourself will not help anything; you need to focus. I know Oromis taught you that as well. Stop acting like this."

Eragon opened his eyes. She was right. He knew she was. He looked at her for a moment. Her anger appeared to have faded, which was good. He rolled his shoulders- stiff from being in the awkward position forced by the chains for so long- and nodded his head.

"Good. Now how do we get out of here?"

Hours later, they still had nothing. A frustrated silence had fallen over both of them for that past half-hour or so, when Eragon heard something. He looked up, and could tell that Arya had heard it to. She was staring at the large wooden door curiously, body tense. The noise continued to get louder and louder and became footsteps, many footsteps of many people, all getting closer. Seconds later, the door opened, and in walked a group of soldiers. At there front was the man Eragon took to be their captain. His armor was in better condition than the dull, dented pieces worn by the rest, and he wore a crimson cape which billowed out behind him as he walked. He was of average height and build, but a sort of power seemed to radiate from him. His face was rugged, almost handsome, with a strong chin and brow. He walked with an air of authority. There were a dozen or so men following behind him. They seemed excited, as though they were anticipating something. Each carried a spear, and though a dagger was at each of their belts, they carried no swords.

Behind them walked another man that Eragon had not noticed at first. He wore no armor, only a simple belted tunic, breeches, and a cloak. He alone seemed unhappy to be here, worry clouding his features.

The Captain stepped forward, a smile on his face.

"So here are the Shadeslayers, the Rider and the Elf, captured and locked away in a dungeon. Helpless, unable to perform magic, trapped without escape. How fantastically convenient! We have been long preparing for your arrival, Rider, and yours, Elf, though we knew there was a small chance of capturing you both alive... It would seem, however, that fate has been in our favor, for here you are!

"Enough banter, however. I'll get to the point. You are here, you should know, to play a game. It is a challenge, but the rules are not complex, I will explain them in a moment. First, however, I need to ask you a question."

Eragon was feeling worse and worse about this situation. The man was trouble, of that there was no doubt, but what was this "game" that he referred to? This whole situation was ludicrous, and yet the underlying threat- and the fact that the soldiers smiles grew at every word- worried him. He listened closely as the Captain paused for effect and then continued to speak.

"I need to know where the Varden have retreated to."

Eragon glared at him. They thought that he would give them that information? Even under torture he wouldn't reveal it. If the Varden had retreated it meant they needed time to regroup and rest. If the Empire attacked them it could mean the end of the Varden altogether. There wasn't a chance he would speak. The Captain, however, didn't seem to notice. He seemed overly confident, meeting Eragon's glare with a smile, as though he was hiding something.

He was.

"The rules are: You answer, or you are tortured. Rather simple, except that you personally will not be harmed, Rider. If you are both silent, you will be forced to watch as we torture the elf. You understand, Rider? She will suffer for your silence. So I ask you again.

Where are the Varden?"


	3. The Laugh

**Hi I'm back with chapter 3. Enjoy.**

**Chapter 3: The Laugh**

It took a moment for the Captain's words to enter Eragon's mind, but once there he couldn't get them to leave.

She will suffer for your silence.

The words echoed through his head again and again. He felt numb, and tried desperately to clear his mind, to think. At first it seemed that they would never leave, that they would echo on forever, but, as with all echoes, it began to fade, replaced, not with silence, but with anger. Pure, raging anger. And, deep in the recesses of his mind, fear.

He looked up at Arya, her wrists twisted above her head in the iron chains, her back exposed, vulnerable, and the fear made itself a little more prominent. For the first time he realized that neither of them were wearing their armor. He saw a dull glint in the corner, a pile of shining metal reflecting the dull torchlight, which had to be their armor. His gaze shifted back to Arya. She was shaking her head violently, evidently she had seen his glance.

"Don't you dare, Eragon. Don't you dare tell them anything for my sake, you understand? Not a thing. The Varden d-"

At a nod from the Captain a guard walked up and clamped a hand over Arya's mouth. The Captain smiled.

"Ah… I see your friend is trying to be brave. How heroic. But you should both know what is in store for her should you choose not to cooperate. We are well aware of her… experiences… at Gil'ead, and let me assure you that we are capable of doing far worse. She will be tortured to an even farther extent, because, unlike Durza, if we lose her, we still have you. She will be healed at the last possible second, no sooner. Now, I will ask again. Where are the Varden?"

Eragon remained silent. Though the fear was slowly growing, it had not yet overwhelmed the anger, and Arya was right. She had not been able to complete her sentence, but he had seen it in her face. The Varden depends on you.

The Captain seemed unperturbed by his silence, and when he spoke his voice was smooth.

"Very well. You will remain silent, for now. But you will tell us in time. Besides, my men would be very disappointed if you spoke now."

The Captain indicated the group of soldiers standing behind him. They all looked far too happy to be there, grinning menacingly. Eragon guessed that they had been hand picked for this job. Men that would not shrink from any order. At a nod from the Captain, one of the men eagerly stepped forward and saluted. After a few whispered words the man's smile broadened, and he walked over to an alcove in the wall. He picked up something, and as he stepped back into the light, Eragon saw what it was. A long, leather whip, knotted and twisted almost beyond recognition as the smooth strip of leather it had once been.

He forced himself to keep his face calm as the man , still smiling, approached Arya and raised the his weapon. There was an almighty crack and the whip fell, easily slicing through the lamaràe tunic that was now all that covered her back. Her face twisted, but she made no sound as the leather cut a long gash in her back. The whip raised again. Eragon stared. He had gone numb again with the sound of the whip falling, the sight of Arya's back being cut open. He watched as the lash fell again, well aimed to cause the most pain. Arya grit her teeth, but again said nothing. The guard paused slightly, waiting for the full effect of the pain to register. Eragon's initial shock was wearing off as frustration at his inability to help overcame it. He was sickened to see that the guard was still smiling, the expression smeared across his face, looking grossly at odds with the bloodied whip in his hand.

As the guard raised his arm for a third time, Eragon strained his wrists against the shackles, trying futilely to get himself free. The guard brought the whip down with a well practiced motion, and this time Arya cried out, letting out a short yell that she bit back almost as soon as it was loose. Eragon stopped struggling and turned his head away. He closed his eyes, but it did no good. The sound of the next whip crack and Arya's accompanying cry echoed around the stone walls. It sounded as if the room had been designed to amplify and repeat any sounds it was given, which, Eragon thought wryly, it probably had been.

He expected to hear the sounds again, but instead he heard the Captain's voice.

"It appears you do not appreciate our efforts, Rider." Eragon looked up. "Perhaps you would like to speak now? Or would you prefer some other diversion? Hmmm… what shall we try? Ah, yes."

He signaled to one of the other soldiers, who stepped out of line, saluted, and walked over to join his companion. They each took one of Arya's arms, and the first guard took out a set of keys with one hand. He unlocked each of the cuffs and they shoved her out into the middle of the floor. She stood there defiantly, tall and proud, glaring at their lowered spears. If it weren't for the strange stiffness to her stance and the blood that soaked her shoulders, Eragon wouldn't have been able to tell that she had just been whipped.

"We will now proceed, Rider. Perhaps this will more suit your interests."

Seemingly without any sign the remaining soldiers stepped forward and circled around Arya, their metal-toed boots clanging against the stone. Each took the wooden shaft of his spear in both his hands, readying themselves. Arya watched them warily. Out of the corner of his eye Eragon saw the cloaked man step forward to stand beside the Captain. His face was still downcast. Then Eragon's attention was returned to Arya as the group of guards brought down their spears on her back. She grimaced and fell to her knees. As she struggled to rise, more soldiers slammed their spears onto her shoulders, bringing her to the ground. They stepped forward, kicking out with their steel-toed boots. Arya was biting her lip, blood trickling down her chin. A well placed boot slammed into her side and she skidded across the floor. The kicker, a soldier with a large nose and even larger mustache, grinned happily as his companions let out roars of appreciation and stepped forward to center the circle around their victim. One of the soldiers flipped his spear around and jabbed Arya in the side. Not hard, just enough to leave a small gash. Then, using his spear he shoved her onto her back and stomped down hard on her stomach. Arya let out a gasp of air, and with a moan she curled into a ball to try and offer herself more protection.

Eragon watched as the guards rained down blow after blow on her exposed back, sides, and head. Any where they could reach they beat, kicked, or stabbed. He was full of emotions: anger, frustration, pain… He couldn't watch this any more, it hurt to much. The woman he loved, looked up to, who was one of his closest friends, was being beaten to death, or, rather, as close to death as one can possibly get before one has to be healed, and there was nothing he could do about it. This had to stop. The frustration started to become overwhelming. But then, as he watched the soldiers beating the limp form of Arya, something changed. His emotions morphed into a totally different sensation. And there, in the middle of the torture chamber,

Eragon laughed.


	4. I grew to hate her

**HAII. Thanks for the reviews. I'm only gonna update if i have 6 reviews... Enjoy!**

At first, the laughter just mixed in with that from the soldiers, but as they stopped, Arya could hear it more clearly. Though it took few seconds for her to process what she was hearing, Arya's pain-swamped mind recognized it. She looked up, and saw that she was correct. Eragon, his wrists pulled back to the wall by iron chains, was laughing hysterically. The soldiers around her had stopped, staring with confused looks to their commander, awaiting orders. The commander was looking, with a similar expression, at Eragon, who appeared to be attempting to calm his laughter. She watched Eragon, unbelieving, stunned. Finally the commander spoke.

"We have done something to amuse you, Rider?"

Eragon finally appeared to get control of himself, and the laughter stopped.

"I was merely enjoying your exercises, Captain. I do believe that was your desire?"

The Captain, as Arya now realized he was, looked even more puzzled.

"But surely… News of the love of the Rider and Elf has reached us from our operatives across Alagaesia! We could not have been so mistaken as to… surely…"

Arya grimaced, she knew that there were rumors about a supposed relationship between her and Eragon, but for them to be so vivid that the Empire's spies would report them as fact was far beyond anything she would have guessed, or tolerated. She was surprised to see that Eragon looked as though he was thinking the same thing, though his smile remained.

"Your operatives are foolish to believe the gossip of old women and beer-tongued men. There was once a time when I felt such a love for the Elf, as you call her, but she would not have me. She left me hurt and crying to the darkness too many times, and I grew to hate her."

He turned to her, and their eyes met. She felt the hurt of his words beginning.

"Over the months my hate has grown, and many times I longed to do to her just what you are doing now, or worse, though she did not know it. And so, Captain, you will forgive me for enjoying this, for seeing her take a little of my pain. It has been long in coming."

The Captain's expression changed from confused back to his smooth, cool expression, but Arya didn't notice. She was too busy staring as Eragon. He still met her gaze, unflinching, and his eyes were filled with the hatred he had spoken of, nothing else. No compassion or regret, just cold, unwavering hatred. It confirmed what he had just said more than anything else. She felt memories welling up unbidden in her mind, and though she tried to force them back, they overwhelmed her.

Eragon- different, more human-looking than he was now- standing in the door of her cell at Gil'ead, his face curious, concerned.

Eragon standing in the door way of her room, or really, leaning, too weak to fully support himself: the injury to his back, though healed as best as anyone could, still sapping his strength. As drained as he was, he was still holding out the flowers to her, looking slightly hopeful. She took them cautiously, but continued watching him. He seemed content that she had taken his gift, and smiled slightly.

Eragon, changed, healed, again holding greenery, this time a single flower, a lily, he was passing it to her, cheering her up, doing a good job too, she was content, happy.

His arms were around her now, but she wasn't happy, she was crying, mourning the two mentors- and friends- who were now dead. He was comforting her, protecting her from the world, just for a second, keeping her close…

But then the memories changed.

She was staring at herself, but not herself. She was seeing herself as Eragon saw her. He was standing a few feet away, looking stunned. The fairth felt like it was burning her hands, she felt pure fear swirl through her, and on impulse she raised the slate above her head, smashing it on the grass.

The recollection changed.

Eragon was staring at her, his face twisted.

How can you be so cruel?

Hear me well, Eragon. This cannot, nor ever shall be. And until you master yourself, our friendship must cease to exist, for your emotions do nothing but distract us from our duty. Goodbye, Eragon Shadeslayer. [Eldest, pg 474]

She walked past him into the trees, but didn't leave. When she knew she was out of his sight, she turned around and watched. He was sitting down on an old log, his shoulders shaking, head in his hands. A few seconds later Saphira landed and pulled him close, blocking Arya's view. But she had known then as she knew now: he had been crying.

The scene changed again

Now she was the one crying, or rather trying not to cry. The smell of smoke was strong in the air. Eragon was sitting across from her, listening to what he had not yet known of her past. She was watching his face. She had seen something, only for a split second, but it had been there. She had mentioned Faolin, how they had been friends for so long, and that's when she's seen it. Something had flitted across his face, just appearing before he visibly forced it back. Jealousy, longing. He had said nothing though. Because she had asked him not to. At the Burning Plains.

Her mind automatically brought her there, though she was begging it to stop. She didn't want to see any more, no other memories of the pain she had caused her friend.

And you won't do it again?

It wouldn't get me anywhere if I did, now would it? No matter. I don't want to trouble you… [Eldest, pg 592]

She regain control of her mind and looked back up at what was happening. It had only been a second or two, and the Captain still appeared to be considering Eragon. Eragon was still looking at her, a satisfied look on his face, as though he knew what she had been thinking.

"I suppose, then, Rider, that I will have to change my plans. Donagger? Tallien? If you would?"

The two soldiers he had addressed stepped forward and, taking Arya by the arms, they began to force her toward where Eragon stood, chained to the wall. She struggled, but when two additional soldiers stepped up and also grabbed her arms she had no choice but to walk with them. Four soldiers were standing by Eragon as well. As Arya and the guards around her approached, those standing by Eragon seized his arms, and one reached up to unlock the iron cuffs around his wrists. She realized that they were being switched. They began to move Eragon towards the post where Arya had been chained when they had first arrived. He, too, was struggling, growling angrily as they shoved him across the room. Meanwhile, Arya's guards were clamping her wrists into the now empty manacles. Eragon's guards were doing the same, though with the shackles hanging from the top of the post instead. He was still struggling with them, slamming his wrists against the chain. She watched apprehensively as the Captain smirked and spoke.

"One may not love the other, but there is truth to every tale. She may yet love you. If she does not, there is no loss, for you may speak to save yourself. Begin."

At his words, a soldier stepped forward and raised the whip.


	5. I said get away elf!

Arya winced as the whip fell again and again. She had turned her head away before the first stroke, expecting Eragon to cry out. But when after at least five blows she had still heard nothing, curiosity got the better of her. She looked. Eragon was standing, arms pulled above his head by the chain, his face calm. Not strained, not twisted in agony, calm. But it was not his normal relaxed expression either, but a hard, cold calm, betraying nothing. His eyes, too, seemed strange. Though she could usually read his expression from his eyes, if not his whole face, now they were blocked, shielded, showing no emotion whatsoever. Though blood was streaming down his back and his muscles were tense he made no sound or expression, nothing to indicate the pain he had to be experiencing. She continued watching him, bewildered, until the noise and heat that had been building to her right finally registered. She glanced over.

Three guards were busy stoking a fire in the large stone fireplace. The blaze was already as high as their waists, and it was wreathed in blue and white flames. As she watched, a guard wearing thick leather gloves stepped forward with a metal bar and held the end of it to the flames. Slowly the forward half of the bar began to grow brighter, until it radiated a reddish light. Then the soldier, his face shining with sweat, stepped back from the fire and turned to face Eragon. The guard who had been whipping Eragon backed away, and the new soldier stepped forward, raising the metal bar above his head. When he brought it down, it was with such force that Eragon was sent crashing down. He would have fallen to his knees, but instead he jerked back against the chains holding his wrists. Still the Rider made no sound. The rod fell again and again, leaving red and blackened streaks across Eragon's back, the soldier wielding it pausing only to reheat it in the roaring flames. Arya couldn't watch, yet somehow she did, remembering that when Eragon had stopped watching them harm her it had only made her situation worse. She didn't want to make things worse for Eragon. She didn't want to know what else the Captain would try.

The following span of time was one of the longest in Arya's life. Her mind, again, was in control against her will, etching every detail of what happened deep into her memory, so that she would never forget. Every blow from the soldiers, every drop of blood that fell onto the red-tinged floor… And Eragon's face, that horrid, blank expression, hiding his pain, forever in her mind. At times tears of anger and frustration would run down her face, other times she felt blissfully numb. The soldiers seemed to greatly enjoy their work, their sick smiles remaining on their faces. They did everything they could think of to Eragon, seeming to try and use as many items as they could to brand him, from crude designs that they formed from the hot metal, to Brisingr, Eragon's own sword. They beat and kicked him, and at times he seemed on the verge of unconsciousness, and Arya thought that perhaps, this time, they would stop, take a break. But they didn't. The man in the cloak, who was, Arya now knew, a healer, a magician, would step forward, distaste at the procedings clear on his face, and heal Eragon just enough, give him just enough energy, to keep him awake enough to feel pain. Through it all, Eragon's face retained that cold expression of tranquility that she had seen before. By now, though she realized what he was doing. At every blow that Eragon ignored, every burn he endured without showing pain, the soldiers got more and more frustrated. Why he was attempting to anger the men who had total control over how much pain he felt, however, was still beyond her reasoning.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they finally did stop. Every second had seemed to last an eternity. It might have been minutes or hours. Her wrists were aching from twisting in and slamming against the chains that held her, trying to escape, to help Eragon. Her face was streaked with her own dried blood and tears. The soldiers were beating Eragon, who had fallen and was now hanging from his wrists from the chains. All of a sudden the healer called for them to stop, and walked forward. He reached out and lifted Eragon's chin. Eragon's eyes were closed, his face not the hard calm of before, but now relaxed slightly.

"He is unconscious. Do you want me to wake him?"

No. Please no, begged Arya in her mind. Just let them stop.

"No," Said the Captain. "The men are tired, we will take a short respite and wait for the Rider to awake on his own. Throw them in a cell!"

At his word four guards stepped up to Arya, unlocking her chains and dragging her along with them. Again, she tried to struggle, ignoring the pain that lanced through her from her back and torso. They appeared to be expecting this, however, because they kept a firm grip despite her efforts.

Looking behind her she saw two soldiers dragging an unresponsive Eragon along the floor between them. She turned back around just as the soldiers holding her stopped in front of a large wooden door. One took out a ring of keys, and after some fumbling and a few tries he managed to locate the correct key and unlock the door. It opened to a small, stone room. There were no furnishings of any kind but for two stone slabs that stuck out from the walls to form "beds". On each of the beds was a thin scrap of material, perhaps two meters long and half a meter wide, which she assumed were supposed to be blankets. All this she took in in the split second before the guards shoved her into the room. She turned just in time to see them throw Eragon's limp form onto the cold stone floor and slam the thick wooden door shut. She heard the click of the key in the lock and the fading tramp of soldiers footsteps, then quickly knelt down beside Eragon's still form, looking over his injuries.

They were sickening. His back was torn apart and burned badly. Across his shoulders and the back of his neck was the rough shape of a dragon, burned their by a particularly artistic soldier. Others had made circles or crosses, some even working out of the metal a letter or two of their name to add to the brands that covered him. Gently she rolled him over to find that the front of him wasn't that much better. Nothing was left of his tunic, but she was grateful that his sturdy leather riding britches appeared to be intact, except for the burn marks and occasional gash. Feeling along his torso and limbs she search for any obviously or badly broken bones. She knew that at least a few of his ribs were cracked, and knew from the constant pain in her chest that some of her own were at the least bruised. However, though she found he had a few more fractures, nothing was too serious to prevent her from moving him up to one of the stone slabs. Carefully she lifted him, and, sweeping the blanket out of the way with here foot, she placed him with his back against the cool stone of the bed. Then, picking up the blanket, she tore it into strips and began to attempt to bind up some of his more dangerous injuries. As she began working on a large gash on his arm, he stirred.

She paused in her work as his eyes slowly opened. He looked at her, and for a second she thought she saw regret, but then it was replaced by anger so quickly that she knew it couldn't have been there.

"What are you doing?!" His face was angry, twisted with rage, and his words echoed around the room.

She was shocked into silence for a second, then tried to speak. "I… I-"

"Get away!"

"I was trying to help-"

"I don't need your help." He spat the words out like poison. When she didn't move he struck out with his fist. The blow hit her shoulder and was weak, as weak as he was, but it hurt more than any other she had ever received.

"I said get away, elf!"

She got away, backing to the other side of the room to sit on the stone bed there. Eragon watched her retreat, then closed his eyes. His face returned to the hard, cold calm she had seem before. Arya's heart was pounding. She reached up and touched her shoulder. He had hit her. She couldn't believe it. Her friend was gone. He hated her. Somewhere, deep down, before, she hadn't quite believed him. She had thought that once they were alone, he would explain… but he hadn't. He meant it. Her best friend was gone. Laying down, she turned towards the wall, so that even if he looked, he wouldn't be able to see her face, and cried


	6. I love him

Arya woke dripping sweat, though the room around her was cold. In the strange confusion of sleep she wondered where she was. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel hardness at her back and the air was damp. For some reason her subconscious was screaming at her, telling her to go back to sleep, to never wake, that it would be better not to know where she now lay, not to know what was going on, but it was too late. Within a second the confusion faded, and was replaced by pain. It was so sudden and intense that she immediately began searching her body for injury. Her scan led her to her mind… and her heart.

Oh. Right.

She was fully awake now, and she knew everything. She remembered Eragon's face, filled with rage, screaming at her. She remembered the feel of his fist hitting her shoulder. She had lain still on the cold stone bed for a long time before she finally fell into the trance-like state that was the sleep of the elves. She had hoped that sleep would bring relief, but in truth it had been almost as painful as reality. The memories that had haunted her in the torture chamber came back to fill her mind. Images of Eragon's face had clouded her waking dreams, flashing by, discordant and out of order. Twisted in hate; unreadable in the hard calm that her traitor mind had already memorized; tear-streaked, after she had broken his heart yet again.

Both our hearts.

Her turncoat mind, once again, forcing the thought out before she could stop it. She struggled to keep that part of her silent, but it had been silent for a long time, and had much to say.

I love him.

It wasn't a question, a suggestion, or even a gentle fact. It was an accusation.

No, I do not!

If you don't love him, why are you so upset at the moment?

Because I'm hurt! I still do not love him, however, I have said a million time it is not so.

Go say a million times that you are a dragon, and show me the results.

That is beside the point. I do not love him. He is- was- a friend, a wonderful friend, and I loved him as such! Nothing exists beyond that friendship.

Liar! You have loved him since shortly after you met him. You have loved him since he loved you.

It doesn't matter if I love him or not! He… he is no more. Our friendship is gone.

It may not matter to him, but it matters to me.

She cursed mentally and opened her eyes. All she could see of the room around her was the gray stone wall, inches from her face. But she could hear Eragon on the other side of the room. He didn't sound good. His breathing was labored, and occasionally a racking cough echoed around the small room. Slowly, she turned and sat up so that she could see him. He was lying much the way he had been before: on his back, eyes closed, face pale. The dead calm that had been his only expression since his outburst was still on his face. She was growing to hate that look. It meant he was hurting. And, though she denied it again and again, deep down she knew that she would only be able to lie to herself a little longer. She loved him.

She cursed again. Her thought process was going in circles. Just as she began trying to think of something to contemplate that didn't involve Eragon, she heard the tromping of steel-toed boots against the granite floor of the outer hall. Another second, and a key was being turned in the lock of the cell door, and it was pushed open. Two guards walked in and headed directly for where Eragon lay. They stood beside the bed for a moment, staring at him, then one guard leaned forward and casually spat in his face. Arya felt anger surge through her, but Eragon's only response was to open his eyes and look at the soldiers, his face still calm. The guard who had expectorated stood and grinned, showing a lovely set of bad teeth.

"See? I told you 'e was awake."

As he spoke, air hissed and whistled through the gap left by one of his missing teeth, and he sounded as though he were part snake. The soldier next to him just nodded, then stepped forward. They each took Eragon by an arm, and, lifting him off the bed, began dragging him towards the door. Arya felt sick. She didn't want to watch them torture Eragon again. Once was far too much. But she had no choice. Four other guards walked in and took hold of her, and, though she struggled, they easily forced her out the door and through the stone passages into the torture room. Her arms were secured above her head in the same chains as before, and pain lanced through her wrists as the cold metal scraped against the gashes and bruises that she had received from the shackles earlier. Eragon's guards lay him out on the wooden table in the center of the room, securing him with leather straps.

The Captain stepped forward, smiling, and spoke.

"Welcome, welcome to our humble show. Elf, you understand what I ask. Do you wish to speak now? Or shall we continue as we did earlier. I warn you it will not be pleasant. The Rider will experience far… more than he did before. Will you relieve him of this pain, or will you force us to continue to harm him? His fate rests on you."

She stared at him. What could she do? Refuse the man and condemn Eragon to hours more torture? Or save her friend by betraying others. She kept remembering Eragon's wounds, his blank expression… She shook herself. What would Eragon, the old Eragon, have wanted her to do? What would she have wanted him to do if the situation were reversed? She stared the Captain in the eyes, and shook her head.

"I won't tell you anything."

"Very well. Keep those words in mind as you watch their consequences."

He nodded, and she expected a few of the soldiers to step forward, weapons in hand, but instead the healer, cloak billowing behind him, walked over to where Eragon lay. Positioning a hand over Eragon's head, the magician closed his eyes and began murmuring quickly and quietly in what she assumed was the ancient language, though it was difficult to make out. She watched Eragon's face carefully. Had she not she never would have seen what happened next, but she did. One moment Eragon was staring with a slight frown at the palm of the healer's hand. The next, he blinked, and instead he was staring into space, his focus on something she couldn't see. The magician finished his whisperings and stepped back just as the straps holding Eragon down released, and he began to rise up off of the table.

Eragon watched as the magician backed away. It did not appear as if he had done anything. No healing, no pain, nothing. Two guards stepped forward and grabbed Eragon by the arms. Another soldier undid the straps and the two holding him forced him to stand, wrenching his arms back, holding him firmly. They turned him to face the captain, who was standing in front of the large doors of the cell. Now that he thought about it, it was odd for the door to be quite so big. He forgot it a second later, though, as the Captain addressed him.

"So, Rider, it appears our methods are not working. Too bad. Perhaps this next treatment will convince you."

He stepped back and the guards by the doors slowly opened them. He stared in horror at what lay behind.

A lone tear rolled down his cheek.

Arya stared at Eragon. He was standing on what appeared to be solid ground, with his arms apparently held behind him by guards, except that there was nothing there. He was eight feet off the table, floating vertically in the air with his arms held stiffly at his side, and a little back, as though something, or someone, held him there. He was still staring at something she could not see. Then as she watched, his face, which had remained calm since the beginning of his torture, changed. It filled with fear and anger. He stood there for a moment, and she thought she saw something shining on his cheek. Then he screamed.

"Nooooo! Saphira!"

His blue dragon stood in the doorway, flanked on either side by soldiers of the empire. She was bound, magically enhanced iron bands wrapped around her each of forelegs and hind legs, as well as around her snout, and tail. Five stout soldiers anchored each cuff, the two-inch think metal chains running through special loops in their shoulder armor, but the shackles did not appear necessary. The once proud dragon was following obediently, hardly lifting her head.

"She cooperated quite well once she was informed of your situation."

It had taken her a few minutes, but Arya finally understood what was going on. The magician was forcing Eragon to see- and feel- an illusion. When Eragon had blinked, and he had appeared to be staring into the distance, the magician must have switched him from this world to some sort of dream state, and was using his power to make Eragon see what the magician wanted, and to feel everything as well. She looked over at the magician and confirmed her theory. The man was slightly pale and sweating profusely, apparently losing energy at a fair rate. She also doubted that Eragon understood what was going on, he believed what he was seeing. He was struggling with the force that held him, his eyes staring at what he alone could see. She didn't know what he was seeing now, but Saphira was there, and things appeared to be heading for trouble. She called out to him, telling him it was an illusion, that Saphira was safe, hoping that perhaps he could hear her. A guard stepped forward to silence her, but at a signal from the Captain, he did nothing. The Captain apparently already knew what Arya found out a second later. Eragon could hear nothing from this room. He made no response, not even a slight turn of the head when she called his name. Her face fell, and she resigned herself to witnessing what she was sure would be a very painful experience for Eragon.

Eragon stared at Saphira, no longer struggling with the guards, just watching. The drug prevented him from communicating with her. All he could do was watch as the soldiers slammed the wooden doors behind them. She had barely fit through the doors, and now she had to keep her scaly head low to avoid hitting it against the stone ceiling. As she entered the torches reflected off of her scales, bathing the whole room in an eerie blue light. The great dragon met his gaze, her eyes mournful. The wild fire that was normally there was replaced by fear, and a deep sadness. Defeat. That look scared him more than anything else. He was distracted a second later as, at the Captain's command, four guards marched over to where Arya was chained and unlocked the manacles, taking her firmly by the arms. They dragged her across the room to stand beside Saphira. A large guard, with muscular arms and a long, broad blade, stood between them. That action only added to his fear. Then the Captain spoke.

"We have grown tired of this game. You will speak now, or they will die where they stand. The dragon first, I think…"

The large soldier obediently raised his weapon and held it to Saphira's throat.

"What say you, Rider?"

Eragon's face was horrified, and it was killing Arya to not know what was going on, what could possibly be affecting him so much, when days of torture had done nothing. He had been looking around him, as if watching proceedings, and then his head had turned quickly to his left, and stared intently at one point. It was then that his expression had changed from that of slight fear to one of outright terror, and she assumed that someone had been talking. Then, he turned his head again, to look at a spot a little farther right. He just stared for a moment, then spoke quietly, terrible fear still evident in his face.

"Saphira, no… I can't do it. I can't lose you! No! I- I can't. Arya? Please…"

She was surprised to hear her own name, especially since it hadn't been spoken with anger or malice.

He was shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the spot that she assumed she was in the illusion, his expression slowly melting from fear to pain. He seemed to be listening to someone, presumably herself.

"No… I can't! Please… Arya, please… tell her-"

He was begging now, his sentence ending in a sort of strangled sob. What was he asking her? Why was he so upset? It was maddening! She was surprised to see tears pouring down his face. But then, all of a sudden, he seemed to regain control. His expression hardened into resolve. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. Turning slightly, he spoke.

"Saphira, I love you. Please know that."

Then he turned again, farther to the left, pulling slightly against the nonexistent guards holding him in place. He stared for a moment then, firmly and clearly, said,

"No."

A second later he screamed in agony, grabbing his head and falling to his knees on the invisible floor eight feet in the air.

"SAPHIRAAAAA!"

It was the tortured scream of a rider losing his dragon.

He began sobbing uncontrollably, his hands wrapping around to the back of his neck as he lowered his head, his arms still held up and back slightly by the unseen guards. Arya called out again, trying desperately to reach him, to tell him that Saphira was safe, that it would be all right, but he couldn't hear her. Tears were running down her cheeks, watching the pain this caused him. She knew now what was going on. He was seeing them, whoever they were, kill Saphira because he wouldn't tell them the location of the Varden. She slammed her wrists against the chains holding her back, but it was no use. She could do nothing to help him. She watched. A few minutes later his sobs died down slightly. And then Eragon's head whipped up, gazing intently at the spot where his tormenter stood, whoever it was that was causing this, listening again. His face changed again, from loss to anger. He stared for a moment, his limbs shaking, whether from exhaustion, pain, or anger, she didn't know. Probably all three. Then, he screamed.

"YOU HAVE TAKEN MY LIFE FROM ME! MUST YOU TAKE MY LOVE, ALSO?!"

She stared, as he turned back to his right, his angry face returning to pain. He spoke, his voice breaking, tears continuing their meandering paths down his face.

"Arya, please! I can't lose you, too! I need you, the Varden needs you, please! I can't do this! I can't…"

She was in shock. "…must you take my love…?" "Arya, please! I can't lose you, too!" Taking his love… taking… her? He did love her? Then she shook herself. She was making assumptions. Back to reality, or, really, not reality… The resolve was back in Eragon's face- apparently the Arya he saw had said something brave- but this time she could see through the mask. He was in agony, barely hiding it. He turned to his tormenter, and spoke the fatal word.

"No."

Arya heard the Captain swear beside her, and knew Eragon had succeeded in withstanding this torture. But then it didn't matter, because at that moment Eragon screamed again. It was far worse than before. It was the scream of a man who had lost everything he held dear. Everyone.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

He struggled violently against those who held him, trying to get free. He appeared to get one arm free, snarling with the effort, tears careening down his face. But then the snarling stopped. It was replaced by silence, his mouth forming a round "O" of surprise, as his hand traveled to his shoulder.

And came back covered in blood.

He looked at his hand, then at his left shoulder, which had been rent open by some weapon. He stared at the wound for a second, his mouth closing, and then his eyes rolled slowly backward into his head and closed, and he fell forward onto the invisible floor. Except the floor wasn't there. Instead he fell through it, eight feet to the bloodstained stone beneath.


	7. Your Alive!

The Captain said something angry, and two guards stepped forward and took Eragon's arms. Four took Arya. She hardly noticed. She was yelling at Eragon, pleading with him to wake up, to be okay. The guards that had him were hauling him down the stone hall behind her, and she kept turning her head, struggling, trying to see him past the soldiers that held her. His heels were dragging along the ground, chest to the ceiling, his head lolling back. Dark blood dripped from his wounds onto the ground, leaving a smeared trail behind him. All of a sudden, the guards holding her gave her a shove through the open door of the cell. She heard the thud of another body hitting the floor beside her, and then the slam of the door.

She let out a slight groan as she pushed herself off of the floor, but then all of her pain was forgotten as she looked at the prone form of Eragon. He lay on his front, and she desperately turned him over, pressing her ear to his blood-covered chest. He had a heartbeat. She felt relief flood through her. He was alive. But then she looked at the wound in his shoulder. She could loose that heartbeat any minute. She glanced over him, quickly assessing the damage.

If she had not seen the whole process she would have barely recognized him. His face was burned and bruised, his eyes swollen from tears. His body was not any better. He was covered with bruises of varying colors, as well as a hundred cuts and gashes. His back was more laceration than skin, and his shoulder…

His shoulder was bad.

It appeared to be a stab wound from a sword or spear from behind, going all the way through. It was high enough that it hadn't hit his heart, thank goodness, otherwise he wouldn't be breathing now. But it was still bad, bleeding terribly. He already looked pale, and it wasn't going to get any better. Gently but hurriedly she lifted him up, cursing the soldiers and the Captain for what they had done to him. Laying him out on the stone bed she picked up the strips of cloth that had been left over from when she had tried to bandage him before. Taking one of them she pressed it down on his shoulder. It was instantly soaked in blood, but she kept the pressure on it, and within a minute or so the bleeding slowed. Grabbing more strips she wrapped the wound tightly. Then she sat back. There was nothing left to do, but wait.

A few hours later, by her best guess, she was still sitting there. Her head was back against the wall, and it looked as though she was resting, but in truth her eyes never left the unconscious form beside her. Now, as she watched, he was stirring, his eyes moving beneath their lids. She sat up and watched. After a few minutes, she was astonished to see a lone tear fall from the corner of Eragon's eye. It rolled down his temple and over his ear. She reached out and gently wiped it away. Eragon's eyes flew open in surprise, and he just stared. Then in a whisper that was hardly more that a breath, he asked

"Arya?"

She only nodded. He reached up, hesitantly, touching her face, as if not believing she was actually real.

"You're alive," Again, barely audible.

Then he laughed out loud.

"You're alive!"

He tried to sit up and hug her.

Big mistake.

Instantly what color there was drained from his face, and he stopped laughing. The hard calm returned, and he fell back on the stone. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. Though his face was relaxed, his hands were balled into fists, clenching so hard that his fingernails were making cuts in his palm. Arya reached out and brushed his hair out of his face, letting him know she was there, trying to sooth him a little. What else could she do? She couldn't heal him, thanks to the stupid drug. She could only watch as he dealt with the pain. His breathing turned more desperate as racking coughs began to take over. She looked on, at a loss for what to do. It was an awful feeling, one that she was not used to. Soon, he was coughing violently, the spasms shaking his entire body, undoubtedly causing more pain. It ended with him vomiting what little there was in his stomach onto the floor beside the bed. Finally, the cough died down. He lay there, his breathing calming. Arya took a scrap of leftover blanket material and gently wiped his mouth clean. He opened his eyes, and with a weak smile, immediately returned to the previous conversation as if nothing had happened.

"I'm sorry. I was so happy to see you alive… I wasn't thinking… Arya, what about Saphira?"

"She was never here, Eragon, and they never tried to kill me. It was an illusion."

He understood.

"The magician…"

She nodded. Then, hesitantly, dreading the answer, she asked him,

"Why are you glad I'm alive? Why are you acting like this?"

He stared at her, confused, and then realization filled his face.

"Oh…"

She closed her eyes, surprised and angry with herself that she was fighting back tears.

"Arya, I didn't mean it."

She looked up, surprised. Didn't mean what? Didn't mean that he hated her, or that he was glad she was alive? He spoke again, seeming to have trouble finding the words.

"Arya, when they were torturing you, I was… It… It was too much. I couldn't watch anymore. I was breaking. I had to do something. I couldn't just sit there…"

He looked at her, as though begging her to understand. She did, having felt the same way watching him. She felt a slight hope rising in her, but pushed it back down. He hadn't said anything, yet.

"I realized that if their plan didn't work, if your torture didn't bother me, I had a chance of getting them to switch our places. I made up a story that was plausible, because for it to work I needed you to believe it, too. Then I put it into action. It worked as well as could be hoped for. They believed me, and switched us. I feel horrible for the way I treated you in the cell, but I had to, to keep you safe. I knew if you didn't believe me, you would expect some sign that I was deceiving them once we were in the cell, but I needed you to believe me for my plan to work. Also, if they tried to scry us and I was acting a friend to you again, they would have realized that they had been tricked, and they would have switched you back, and that would have been the end of it. Now, I think that even if they find out, they are too frustrated with me to switch us back. But then, I couldn't risk it. Please… forgive me…"

She stared. He hadn't meant it. He had lied to save her, to take her place. But his words still echoed in her head.

"She left me hurt and crying to the darkness too many times..."

He was not the one to apologize. She had to tell him. Now. She spoke, her voice breaking.

"Eragon… I have been sitting here for the past few hours, thinking. And I came to a strong conclusion. Back in that room… in the hall… I thought they had killed you. And I was going over, again and again, all the things I'd meant to tell you. Everything that I hadn't said, that I told myself I'd say later. What it made me realize was that I don't know if I'll have that chance in the future, if I will be able to tell you later. So I have to tell you now… Eragon…"

She felt her throat tighten as she continued to fight back the tears. Finally, she managed to whisper,

"I love you."

That was the end of fighting the tears. It was no use. They started to fall down her cheeks, trailing along her neck only to be soaked up by the collar of her shirt. She didn't dare look at him, afraid to see his reaction. Instead, she put head in her hands in a lame attempt to hide the fact that she was crying like a human girl.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, so sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I meant to protect… I don't know. It is only that you had- have- Alagaësia riding on your shoulders. I thought that a relationship might distract you, which would be disastrous. I- I told myself that you were human, and too young. I told myself that if I were captured, I could be used against you…

" I told myself I didn't love you."

She swallowed hard, holding back a sob, trying to think of what to say. Part of her was horrified with herself for crying like this, but the rest of her was sending her signals of how much this hurt, going over this, telling him everything. Admitting to herself how much she had really hurt her friend, how much she had messed up. She took a deep breath, and continued.

"None of those arguments now stand. You are almost elven now, and this war has aged you far beyond your years. And, though quite obviously no relationship exists between us, the Empire still tried to use me against you. And, finally, I do love you. I lied to myself before, but I can't any longer. I thought I lost you, twice. Just now, and then before, when… when you said…"

She trailed off, unwilling to show him how much his words of before had hurt her. She guessed that he knew anyway.

"Arya…"

She closed her eyes. He had said her name the way he had said it before, when he was watching the illusion. The way he used to say it, before they had gotten captured, the way it contained a thousand things… Joy, laughter, sometimes hints of his forbidden love if he was careless… As if he was glad to see her, as if he wished he could say her name more often… Faolin had always said it like that… As if he cared about her. She looked up.

He was staring at her, his face full of the love he had spoken of so many times, and regret for when he had had to deny it.

"Arya, I did not mean what I said. I was lying. I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. I couldn't just stand there and watch them hurt you. It was too much. Because, Arya, despite everything, despite anything… I still love you."

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled. Tears still ran down her face, and she couldn't really describe how she felt. Eragon loved her, and she had finally told him the truth. But he was still injured, and they were still prisoners.

Eragon slowly lifted his good arm and brushed her hair out of her face and the tears off her cheeks. He hid it well, but she could see how much the effort cost him. He smiled softly.

"I'm so glad you're all right. I'd thought I'd lost you."

She remembered that she had never asked him what had happened, what she had not seen of the illusion.

She asked, and he closed his eyes, his smile disappearing.

"It was horrible… I never guessed it wasn't real. It felt real. I was watching the magician. He said something in the Ancient Language, but I couldn't hear him. Then he stepped away. It didn't appear that he had done anything, which confused me, but I didn't really pay it that much attention. The guards pulled me up, and, all of a sudden, they brought in Saphira through those big wooden doors, and… and they brought you up next to her… The Captain…"

He seemed to be struggling, trying to find words, reliving those minutes in his mind, experiencing the pain, the fear.

"You don't have to tell me, it's all right."

He shook his head.

"No, you should know what we're up against. He said that I had to tell them everything, or they… they would kill you. Kill you both. Saphira first. I didn't want to refuse. I wanted to tell him, I begged you to let me… You said the Varden depended on me. I couldn't talk to Saphira because of the drug, but I knew… I said no. And they… they… killed her.

"It- It was awful. I felt so… empty. Before, it felt like I was one light in a thousand, walking along a path. Saphira added to my light, and lit my path. I could see a little ways ahead of me, and, thanks to her, my light was strong enough to reach others, to see around me. When she was farther away, when our minds couldn't touch, she was still their, though the light was dimmer, she was there. But when she... died… It was dark. There were still other lights around, but they were out of reach. The path ahead was dark; I could see nothing. I didn't know where to go, what to do… I was alone in the darkness, and even my own light was going dim…

"Then the Captain spoke again, and told me to tell him now, or I would watch you die. Again, I asked you to just let me tell him… They had gotten to me, Arya, if you hadn't spoken to me then… I don't know what I would have done. But you did. You reminded me how much depended on my silence. And I- I said-" He trailed off.

"No." She finished for him.

He nodded, his eyes still closed, and a tear escaped from the corner of his eye. When he spoke again she could barely hear him.

"The Captain was angry. He took his dagger and killed you himself. I started struggling with the soldiers that held me. I was almost free, when I felt pain in my shoulder. I looked over and saw the tip of a spear protruding from my chest, and I blacked out. When I woke up, I thought you were dead…

"What I don't understand, however, is the fact that you were able to talk me out of telling them. If the magician controlled the illusion, why wasn't his "you" begging me not to let them kill you, or at the very least remaining silent?"

Arya thought for a moment, then said,

"When I looked at the magician, he seemed to be losing energy fast. It must have been a difficult spell. I think that in the beginning, he had to fight your imagination to keep you from realizing discrepancies that normally would have alerted or protected you. But as he got weaker, your idea of me took over his false image, and your imagination projected what it thought I would be most likely to say onto his image of me. That enabled his image of me to help you."

Eragon nodded, and with a sigh, opened his eyes. There was an extended silence. She began considering their situation. She had to find a way to switch their places again, or at least escape. She couldn't just sit there any longer watching as they hurt him. She had to get them out, somehow. Eragon needed medical attention, soon. She couldn't bear to lose him, but much longer in here… A word from Eragon startled her out of her reverie.

"Arya, we need to talk about something."

She looked up, and saw that his eyes were full of some great sadness, but also conviction. Instantly she was wary.

"First of all, if you get a chance to escape, even if it's for only you, I want you to take it."

"What?! No! Absolutely not! Are you-"

"Arya, please listen."

She stared at him, seething, but remained silent.

"Arya, we both know that I probably won't make it out of here-"

"What the blazes are you talking about, Eragon?! You had darn well better not-"

"Arya, again, please hear me out."

She forced herself to bite back her rampage.

"As I was saying. You cannot deny it, Arya. I am dying. I will not last long in this condition, and you know as well as I do that I am beyond their magician's ability to heal. My guess is that Galbatorix has found a way to force a dragon to remain alive after its rider falls. I am no longer needed."

Her anger was wearing away as the unavoidable truth of his statement hit her head on. She unwillingly thought back to a few minutes before, when she had been dancing around that very truth as she tried to think through how to escape. What had she done to deserve such a traitor mind, always reminding her of things when she needed them least? She felt something wet on her cheek. A tear, just when she'd thought she had cried herself out.

"Arya, in the event that you escape, and I, for whatever reason, be it death or something else, do not, I want you to do something for me."

She swallowed hard, knowing she had lost the argument. Still, she had to try.

"Eragon, you're going to be fine, just wait. They'll find us, just please don't give up on me… Please…"

He continued to look at her, waiting. His eyes bored right into hers, and she knew that what he said was true. In all likelihood, he would not make it out of this place alive.

"What do you want me to do?"

He gave a small, sad smile. She felt another tear fall down her face.

"I want you to bring messages to people. Will you?"

"I- I will. What are the messages?"

"To Roran, tell him that he was always my brother, and that I wish him luck with Katrina and their child.

"To Nasuada, tell her that it was a pleasure serving her, and that I believe, when this is all over, that either Roran or herself would make a good ruler for Alagaësia.

"To Orik, long may he reign, tell him that he too was my brother, and that I was honored to be adopted into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.

"To Angela, I have done my best to avoid roast cabbage.

"To- to Saphira…"

It was his turn to swallow hard, closing his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and strained.

"What can I say to my dragon? My beautiful blue dragon… Only that I love her, and to stay alive for the Varden. And, to take you as her rider into battle, should the need arise."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand slightly, stopping her.

"There is no one else I would trust with her, Arya. Do this for me, for the Varden.

"And that leads us, finally, to you, Arya. When I first met you, you were closed, and I had to work long and hard to learn anything about you. If I am not mistaken, that was due to Faolin's death?"

She nodded.

"You have said that you love me, Arya. Whether you love me as you loved Faolin, or more, or a thousand times less, I know not. But I can only ask that, should I die, you not be so closed again. Find someone to love you, someone to love, someone who makes you happy. I would much rather you are happy with someone else than alone and guarded as you were before. And, though I did not know him, from what you have told me, I believe Faolin would have said the same thing if he had had the chance."

"How can you say that? I loved Faolin, and I lost him. Now, I have fallen in love with you. It's so different, and yet… How can you ask me to love again? I have lost my father, my lover, and, in a strange sense, I have lost my mother, or at least my relationship with her. And now I may lose you as well? You are the most important person in the world to me. How can you ask that of me?!"

He looked at her with those blue eyes, and said quietly,

"Because I love you, and I want what is best for you. You cannot go through life as you once did, shut away, enjoying nothing. I love you more than life itself, Arya. You know that. Do this for me. We have but one life to live, would you waste yours so quickly?"

Reaching out, he took her hand. She couldn't believe that she might lose this. Couldn't believe that in a short while she might again have to watch the man she loved die. Everything in her screamed at her to do something, but she could only ask, What? What can I do? She had no answer for herself.

He smiled weakly, seeming to understand what was going on in her mind, the chaos there. But then he frowned as they heard footsteps in the hall.

"Get over to the other side of the room!" He hissed, his tone urgent.

She complied, quickly moving to the other side of the room. She sat down on the stone slab, and looked up at Eragon. To her shock, he was sitting up, and as she watched, he rose to his feet.

"What are you doing?!"

But she fell silent at the look he gave her. It was the gaze of someone far older, far wiser, than the Eragon she had once known. He knew what he was doing. The door opened, and Eragon spoke.

"Ah, gentlemen, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come. How good to see you."

The soldiers stared at him for a moment. He was a strange sight. He stood there straight and proud, as if the injuries across his body weren't there at all. His face was the only giveaway, it was the hard calm he had maintain throughout everything, especially when he felt the most pain. The lead soldier recovered first, and gave a mocking grin.

"Rider, good, you're awake. We were beginning to get bored, but now we can get back to our game."

"Hmmm… Yes, about that. I would like you to take a message to your captain. Tell him that as much as I appreciate his efforts towards entertainment, they are, shall we say, disappointing?

" I would like a little bit more of a challenge, if possible. I don't believe he is really putting out his best efforts. Please let him know."

During Eragon's speech the soldier's face had been getting redder and redder. When Eragon stopped talking, he looked about to burst with indignation and rage.

"How dare- why you-"

He grit his teeth in frustration. Eragon kept the calm façade, though she could see him growing paler by the second.

"Yes?"

"Oh, he will hear about this, Rider, and I am sure I can guarantee you that he will be most unhappy to hear of your… discomfort."

The soldiers own words appeared to calm him, as if the thought of more brutal hours of torture for Eragon soothed his anger. It probably did. He and his companions stepped back out of the cell, and slammed the door. Eragon swayed, and she barely caught him. Lowering him gently to the floor, she instantly began her attack.

"ERAGON SHADESLAYER! That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen anyone do! What on earth were you thinking? Do you want your torture to get ten times worse?"

His breathing was ragged again. She reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot, burning against her fingers. Quickly she put a hand on his good shoulder, and then his arm, checking. She swore.

"You're burning up. Barzûl! Why on earth did you go and do that, you foolish…"

She trailed off, unable to find the correct words to express her anger, and her deep fear.

"Aye, foolish, perhaps. But they won't bother you now. They won't switch us. You're safe. You don't think I knew you would try to get them to switch us back? That would not have been in anyone's best interests. I-"

He was forced to stop as his ragged breaths turned again to horrible coughs. They racked his whole body, and blood coated his lips. Those blasted tears were falling down her cheeks again, as she watched the pained contortions of his body, contrasting with his clam face. When the coughs finally ceased, he closed his eyes, seeming to drift between alert and unconscious.

"Eragon. Eragon! Hey, wake up! Eragon? Do you hear me?"

He opened his eyes fully, suddenly very alert, and gave her a calculating glance. She knew he saw everything. Her anger, determination, tears, and fear.

"Arya, I want you to promise to me that no matter what happens out there, you will not tell them anything for my sake, you understand? Not a thing."

She winced as he repeated her own words back at her. It had been so much easier for her to say them than for her to hear them from him. She would rather have faced years of physical torture that to go through watching this again. She hesitated.

"Arya…"

"Eragon, I- I can't…"

"You are quite right. You cannot tell them anything at all. But I want your word. Please, Arya. It will make things easier for you if you have a standard."

She glared at him through tear-blurred eyes for twisting her words around, then gave a small sigh, and nodded.

"My word."

He seemed content with that. Pressing her hand gently, he spoke again.

"I love you, Arya, I-"

He was interrupted by the tramp of boots and the squeal of wood on stone as the door opened. The same soldier as before walked in, a confident grin on his face.

"Well, Rider, here is you challenge."

He pulled back his boot to slam into Eragon's side, but Arya grabbed his ankle, flipping him onto the ground. The man's companions roared in fury and grabbed her arms, hauling her back. The soldier stood again, and rammed his fist into the side of her head. She saw stars.

"I'll take no disrespect, wench."

He then turned again to his primary target. Her senses cleared enough for her to begin to struggle with the hands that held her, but it was no use. The lead soldier kicked and punched with a vengeance. Finally, he pulled away. Eragon lay on the floor, eyes half open, staring at the man. A long trail of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth down his chin, and his breathing was short and uneven. More blood stained his makeshift bandages, were the beating had reopened wounds. Still his face was calm, though he appeared to be only semi-conscious. The soldier nodded in satisfaction, and motioned to two other guards to grab Eragon's arms. Then they, and the guards holding her, followed their leader out the door and down the stone hall in the direction of the torture chamber.


	8. will you answer?

Arya struggle valiantly with the guards that held her, but they merely continued to drag her down the corridor behind Eragon and his guards. Eragon appeared to be regaining his senses, slowly shaking his head to clear it. He looked up, and when he saw her, his face broadened into a wide grin. She felt pain lance through her at that look. How could he be so cheerful? He was being dragged to what could very well be his execution, and yet he still had enough innocence to find joy in love, to smile to try and cheer her up. She watched as he tried to rise to his feet, but he didn't have the strength. In the end, he contented himself to just being dragged. She cursed as the guard on Eragon's left deliberately jerked his bad shoulder, causing him to pale significantly. It almost surprised her that he could get any paler, but not quite. More tears created shining paths down her face as she contemplated what was to come. More torture, possibly death… She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and spoke.

"Eragon?"

He looked up again, this time, his face was resolute, encouraging.

"Arya."

His voice was weak and rasping, but he still managed to convey authority and power, as well as comfort. She stared for a moment, enjoying again the sound of him saying her name. She knew it might be one of the last times, if not the last.

"I really do love you."

"And I you. More than you can possibly imagine."

"Eragon… I… I can't-"

"Remember you promise, Arya, not a word. You promised that to me. I trust you."

His eyes were soft, but his words hit home. Her promise. She nodded.

"I-"

The burly soldier on Eragon's left- the one that had tugged on his arm- cut her off.

"OY! Shut it! Enough talk! You two are making me sick."

She stopped what she was about to say, glaring at the man angrily. To her surprise, Eragon spoke.

"My good man, do you have someone of the female persuasion back home? A lover?"

She and the soldier both stared at him, confused as to where he was going with this. Slowly, the guard shook his head. Eragon broke into a broad grin, almost a sneer.

"Well, it isn't exceedingly difficult to see why not, now is it?"

It earned him a fist to the face, but he hardly blinked, and the grin stayed put. Arya was surprised that she had to try not to laugh. She couldn't believe it. Eragon had done what no one else could have. In this, the deepest pit of hell, he had lifted her spirits- if only for an instant.

The feeling left almost as soon as it had come. They had reached the torture chamber.

She was chained in her usual place. Eragon, however, was not returned to the whipping post. Instead, the guards holding him took a firmer hold, and forced him to lie on his back on the wooden table. Not that he could put up much of a fight, he was far to weak, but he at least managed to give them a little trouble, before falling, exhausted, to their whim. At first she thought that they were going to attempt the illusion again, but that made no sense. They had to know that as soon as Eragon woke up and saw her he would know it was not real. So she watched. A guard took his hands and crossed his wrists on the table up above his head. Another took his feet, and, stretching his legs out as far as they would go, and crossed his ankles in a similar fashion. It was when she noticed that the fire was already blazing, evidently having been prepared beforehand, that she began to get nervous.

She watched as a soldier stepped forward with a pair of tongs. In the tongs was what appeared to be a metal spike, seven or eight inches long. The man held the tongs into the fire, putting the spike in the hottest part of the flames. Though he held it there only a few minutes, it was glowing red when he removed it, and he walked quickly over to where the two guards restrained Eragon. The magician was standing there now, at the end of the table behind Eragon's head. Due to the position he was held in, Eragon was having trouble seeing what was going on, but she knew that he knew it wasn't good. He was twisting slightly, trying to see behind him. The soldier with the tongs positioned the red-hot spike above Eragon's crossed wrist. Arya gasped as she realized what they were going to do. A cold laugh broke the silence as the Captain stepped from a dark corner of the room.

"So, the elf has figured it out already. Good, very good. Perhaps you would like to keep your friend from such pain, Arya? What say you?"

Arya shuddered. It was the first time the man had used her name, and she instantly hated it. It made her feel sick. The way he said it somehow made it sound filthy.

"Aryaaa…" He let her name hang there, desecrated by his black tongue. "Will you answer, or will we have to harm your lover?"

They knew. And they hadn't switched her with Eragon. Eragon's plan had worked. Despair overwhelmed her. She had hoped that it wouldn't work. That they would switch their places once they found out. That had been the last hope she had.

"Where are the Varden?"

Everything in her screamed at her to answer, to tell him everything. To leave Alagaësia to its fate… But she raised her head, and kept her word.

"Curse you! May your flesh rot off your living bones for what you are doing! I will never betray them."

"Very well."

Arya watched in horror as the magician raised his hand, murmured something, and then nodded to the soldier with the tongs. The man let go, but the spike remained where it was, floating in mid-air. The magician closed his eyes, continuing to whisper the in Ancient Language. The red-hot spike centered perfectly over Eragon's crossed wrist, and began to slowly lower. The guard holding Eragon stepped back and let go of his wrists, but it was clear that Eragon still could not move, and she guessed that the magician held him there. Eragon's face was a perfect mask. He had figured out what was coming, and now lay as stone. No movements, his face impassive.

The spike touched skin. She watched as every muscle in Eragon's body tensed, except for those in his face, which remained horribly calm. His fists were clenched, his arms straining against their invisible bonds. The hot, razor-sharp point sliced into his skin as easily as Saphira's claw could have. He took in a gasp of air, but that was all.

There was a horrible cracking sound as Eragon's left hand, the one on top, went limp, and she knew that the spike had cut through the muscle in his wrist and was splitting the bone. He back was arching slightly, straining to get away, and sweat poured down his face. She could see his mask weakening slightly, the pain and fear suggesting themselves a little in his eyes. He let out a low moan, but nothing more.

Again, the sickening snap, and then Eragon's other hand was limp. Still, the spike continued to lower at the same, slow pace, never changing, as if it were being pushed into butter instead of living tissue and bone. The room smelled of burning flesh, and the skin around the spike was hissing and sizzling, growing first red, then black. Greasy smoke wafted up, and she fought the urge to be sick.

The spike continued on it's coarse, sinking into the wood below his hands, finally stopping only when the broadened head rested about two inches above his wrists. The magician had effectively nailed him to the table. But he wasn't done. Not yet.

The man who had heated that spike took another, longer one, and began heating it. She realized suddenly why Eragon's ankles were crossed as well.

She was in more pain than she had ever felt in her life. Even her sessions with Durza were preferable to this. Physical pain she could handle, but this… This was so much worse. She was standing here, watching them slowly kill the man she loved, and it was her fault, because she hadn't talked. Not only that, but he was in her place. He was keeping himself from screaming to make them angry, and, she knew, to make things easier for her. And all she could do for him was stand there, watching, keeping her promise. It was agony. She couldn't take anymore. She cried out in anger and frustration and pain.

"NO! No! Not again, please not again! Take me instead, just stop! I can't… please…"

She was crying, knowing that this was doing no good. The Captain smiled, his face slightly, mockingly, confused.

"But surely you know, Arya, that I do not control the soldier's actions? It is you who does. You told us nothing, and that was their signal to begin! If you wish them to stop, you know how to do it, just tell us the location of the Varden, and the game will be over! I will have a more experienced magician come and heal the Rider completely. You will both be given fine rooms- or one together, if you so desire- and will be well treated, given everything you could wish for. You need only say the words."

She stared at him. She wanted so badly to tell him everything. To say that one sentence-that one word, really- that would end all this. It would be so easy…

Then she heard her name.

"Arya…"

She looked up, and saw Eragon lying there, and instantly she was disgusted with herself. He was dying a slow, painful death to protect the Varden, and all that he had asked of her was that she not tell them anything. And here she was contemplating breaking that promise! Just remain silent. Was that so hard? Her wonderfully traitorous mind spoke up again.

Yes. It was. It didn't matter how hard it was. She would not break her word. Stealing herself, she looked back into the expectant eyes of the Captain. "I told you before, as I tell you now. I will say nothing." His eyes instantly hardened. "Very well. We continue. But keep this in mind, Arya, you have done this." The soldier stepper forward with the other spike, this time near Eragon's ankles, and things proceeded much as they had before. The magician took control, centering the spike and restraining Eragon. The spike began to lower at the same speed as before. She forced herself to watch, not wanting to give the Captain an excuse to try something even worse. The whole process repeated itself, the guards enjoying every second. Again the spike stopped with the head a couple of inches above his ankles. By the time they finished, Eragon was breathing hard, and his feet, like his wrists, had gone limp. The magician backed away. His face looked was drawn and pale, but not nearly as pale as Eragon's. Eragon was panting heavily, his body shaking. His face was turned away from everyone, into his arm, and she knew that he was hiding his expression. His mask of calm had slipped, if only momentarily, and he didn't want anyone to see. She could feel the anticipation from the soldiers at what was to come next. The entire room was filled with it. The Captain stepped forward. "Another chance, Arya. I assure you that things will be much worse from here on out. You see: there is generally a limit on what we can do to prisoners, as we need them to stay alive for the information that they carry, but in this case, you both know what we need, so there are no such restrictions. If he dies, we have you. We received the orders this morning. We are free to do whatever we want to him, no restrictions or constraints. Do you doom him to that fate? Or do you speak? My previous offer still stands. If you tell me, he will be healed completely and you will both be treated as honored guests. Make your choice." She closed her eyes, trying to block out his words. They were so tempting. Healing, life, happiness, all was within reach. She just had to say one little word. She opened her eyes and looked at the Captain. Then, slowly, she shook her head, condemning Eragon to his fate. She would not break her promise. "Then we will proceed." There was a howl of excitement from the soldiers, and two of them quickly ran forward and took a pair of tongs each. Walking to another dark corner, they picked up an object, each taking one side with the tongs. As they walked back into the light, she was able to see it more clearly. It was one of Eragon's greaves. She watched in uneasy silence as they approached the fire, and held their tools into the flames. She didn't even want to guess what they were going to do next, but deep down she already knew. More tears rolled down her face, and she wondered why she even noticed them anymore. She had been silently crying now for the past few hours at least. She should have noticed if she stopped, not when she continued. The two soldiers backed away from the fire, being careful to coordinate their movements as they each held one end of the blazing piece of metal between them. Slowly they walked over to Eragon, and their ghastly smiles widened. She tried quickly to numb her mind, to think of something else. Anything else. But it did no good. A second's pause, and they lowered the greave onto Eragon's shin. There was a loud hissing and crackling as the heat began its work. Eragon made no sound, but he couldn't keep his face clear. She knew, because he turned away, hiding his visage in his sweaty, bloody arm. Every muscle in his body had tensed but for his hands and feet, which appeared as limp as ever. She doubted he could move them at all. His arms and legs, however, strained at the stakes; despite the added pain it must have cost him. She wasn't sure he felt anything but his shin, even as his wrists slid up and down on the spike that skewered them, but his shin was plenty. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but what she knew had been mere minutes, they pulled the cooling greave away from his blackened skin. A few seconds after that he turned his head back into view. His face was calm again, but completely colorless, his skin transparent. The men returned to their work, again heating the greave. They pressed it down again, this time shoving his top leg out of the way, slamming his ankle against the stake to get to his lower leg and shin. It happened much the same way as it had before. Eragon's entire body was shaking violently as his muscles tensed, exhaustion struggling with the urge to fight. Tears of pain were streaming down his face, and as his mask of calm fell, he again turned his head away. Arya slammed her wrists against the chains that held her, twisting them to try and get loose. She couldn't just watch this anymore. Something in her had snapped. She realized that she was screaming incoherently, but somehow she couldn't stop. She wasn't in control of herself anymore. tonneau coversShe was insane, at least temporarily. The part of her mind that she inhabited, the part that contained her self, had closed around her. It had automatically put up a defensive shield from the pain of her surroundings, protecting her from truly going insane, but as a result it had left the rest of her mind to take care of itself, and that part was reacting by instinct to the intense hurt it was being put through. She felt removed, though she felt the pain of watching this. It was as if she were in a dream, she didn't quite register anything. She was in a fog of protection, and her instincts told her to stay there. She watched through the blurred window of her eyes, heard through the pain-stabbed portals that were her ears. Her nose took in the pungent smells of fire and blood, and she tasted blood on her tongue. She felt every second like a thousand deaths of her immortal soul, a thousand trips through the flames of , somehow, her anguished mind took a second to laugh at that phrase. What nonsensical poetry. But, then again, could any other words truly describe this? She hardly noticed herself, however. She was to busy watching Eragon. The soldiers had again backed away, and had put down the greave, first dunking it in a barrel of water for a few seconds to ensure that no one but the intended target would be injured. They again walked over to the corner where the armor was. Two more guards met them, also with tongs. They all bent and picked up the corners of a large object, and moved into the light. When she saw what it was she closed her eyes, trying to fight back a wave of mental images that suddenly overwhelmed her. She suppressed a moan. She heard the Captain speak, but it was just a torrent of sounds. She shook her head and concentrated, and her mind belatedly began to inform her of what his words meant. "you understand what we intend to do, very glad indeed. It means that I do not have to attempt to convey to you the severity of the situation. You have seen what we have just done, how much it cost him. What we are about to do is so much worse. Why not just tell us? It would save him… I do not believe that he will last much longer in this situation, and he is too far gone for our healer to bring back. But, should you decide to tell us, a more skilled healer could be summoned from higher up to take care of him. I would be glad to do it, and we could save him… Come Arya. I may not know you well, but I understand you to a degree. You did not miss the fear in his eyes, thought the rest of his features denied it. You watched as he tried to hide his face as his mask of calm shattered. You saw him shaking in exhaustion as our soldiers did their work. Imagine how much worse this would be, and how easily prevented…" She looked up at him, her eyes stinging from the constant flow of tears. She did the only thing she could think of. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, and it sounded dead, even to herself. "Please, Captain, leave him alone… Take me instead. Do whatever you will with me. Take me for yourself, if you wish. Just leave him alone." The Captain smiled. "A tempting offer, Arya, but not one I would fall for so easily. If I were to forgo my orders, it would mean my death, and you, however striking, are not worth my life. Now, speak, or I am afraid we will have to continue." She closed her eyes. Somehow, deep down, she knew that this would be the last chance she had. She didn't know how she knew it, but looking at Eragon's still, pale form lying on the table, she knew. He would not last much longer. This was the final chance she had of telling them, of saving Eragon, of someday living out her long life with him. She imagined walking side by side with him throughout the ages of their country, watching as kingdoms rose and fell, dwelling with the elves in peace…

But there would be no peace. Not with Galbatorix ruling over Alagaësia. Would I trade the happiness of thousands for my own?

She opened her eyes, answering herself and the Captain in one word. "No"

_The Captain stared at her in surprise. He had been smiling at his men in a rather smug manner when she had opened her eyes, but the expression had been wiped off his face when she spoke. "No." He nodded as he repeated her answer, seeming to search for a response. But his face cleared up almost instantly. "Well, unexpected, of course, but not impossible. Onward we go, then!" _ _She swallowed hard. It was done. The soldiers stepped forward and confirmed what she had seen. They held in their tongs Eragon's breastplate. She choked back a sob. The piece of armor looked so evil in the red light of the flames. Covering from halfway over his shoulders down to his waist, it was the best of it's kind, meant for ultimate protection. Now it would do just the opposite, becoming a weapon. She felt sick as she watched them heat it in the flames. _ _They walked away from the fire towards their victim. Eragon shifted slightly, and his breathing became a little more rapid, but that was all. They were still smiling; the same nauseating leers that had remained plastered on their faces the whole time. Two walked around the far side of the table. Then, at a grunt from one of the four, they lowered it onto his skin. The agonizing scream that filled the air was like nothing she had ever heard before. All pretence of control that Eragon had maintained earlier was gone. He writhed in agony, his face contorted as he continued to yell. His wrists and ankles slammed against the broadened heads of the stakes that held him, and his cries only got louder when they did. She couldn't bear it, and her voice joined his as she called out to him, not knowing what she was asking, only wanting for him to know that she was there. He co. Or maybe even give him a break! Maybe switch us… He's fine, he's fine, he's fine, he's fine… She became ntinued to scream, trying to twist away from the metal that was searing his flesh. The guards howled with laughter as the four struggled to keep the fiery breastplate on Eragon's chest. _ _She again tried to break free from the chains that separated her from him, kept her from helping him. Just as it was becoming too much, as her mind was breaking, Eragon's screams began to die down. Within another few seconds, they had died out all together as he fell unconscious. The guards waited a few seconds, peeled away the breastplate, and then backed away. Slowly the healer approached. He prodded Eragon's chest, neck, and shoulders, then turned to the Captain and shook his head. The Captain walked over and they began talking quickly in low tones. _

What?! What are you talking about? Arya wanted to yell. But she knew it would do no good. He's not- …no. No, he's all right. The healer just can't do as much as he would like. Yes, that's it. He's fine. They will wake him up in a moment less and less sure as the conversation between the Captain and the healer dragged out for what seemed like hours. It was only minutes, she knew, but her mind was blowing everything completely out of proportion, running at high speed. She stared at Eragon, watching for any sign of movement. As far as she could see, there was none. He's fine… I'm sure of it. She wasn't sure at all. All of a sudden, there was the distant resonance of a horn sounding. The Captain stopped his discussion with the healer to listen as that horn faded and was replaced by a louder, closer version of the same tone. Just as that horn faded, another took up the call, the only way to tell that it had changed being the difference in volume. The Captain and his men stood, stunned, for a moment, but then the Captain jumped to action.

"FALL IN! ON THE DOUBLE! The Varden attack! Prepare for battle!"

The soldiers just stared at him for a moment, but as he began screaming at them in long streams of impressive profanity, they hastily grabbed their weapons and lined up. The four guards holding the breastplate dumped it into the barrel of water and hurried to join their companions. The healer fell in beside the Captain, and they marched out of the room without so much as a glance back.

She starred at the doors as they slammed shut, in shock. They were gone, just like that. The Varden were attacking, they might be rescued…

_I might be rescued. She officially hated her mind. But the thought was there, and it wouldn't leave. She had to know. Slowly, she turned to look at Eragon, trying desperately not to focus on his injuries, but on whether or not he moved. She saw nothing. Not breathing, not shifting, no movement at all. She watched for what might have been hours as the sounds of battle started above, searching for any signs of life, but she couldn't see anything. As the fire began to dim, she came to the conclusion that she had been trying to avoid all night. With a numbness that surprised her, she let her eyes travel to his face. The peace there was her last confirmation. _ Eragon was dead. At the end 


	9. Saved

**TeeHee sorry for the cliffhanger. **

Arya closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of Eragon's body. It did no good however, the image stayed etched in her mind. Every detail was there in painful, razor sharp clarity. Every cut, every burn, was painted in her mind so that she would never forget. So that even years from now she would be able to see his body like this, to spend every night tormenting herself with those injuries.

She tried to find anything else to think about, anything other than this. She ran over the past few minutes in her mind, trying to focus on anything but the body on the table. The Captain talking, the healer shaking his head again and again… She knew what he was saying, what he must have said…

He's dead.

Then the horn sounding, warning of the Varden's attack, the attack that had nullified everything she and Eragon had done. That had made his death pointless. She could have told them everything, told them where the Varden rendezvous was, because it wouldn't have mattered. The Varden had met there, stayed long enough to regroup, and headed back. She had protected an empty camp, and Eragon had paid needlessly with his life.

Dead, dead, dead…

She opened her eyes and looked again at his face. It was peaceful in death; he looked as he had those many times when he was unconscious. But that had been different. Then she had had the reassuring rise and fall of his chest to comfort her, to affirm that he was still alive. Now there was none of that, and the peace seemed taunting. He was somewhere that she couldn't go, with a peace she couldn't have. Not yet. Not with these chains around her wrists. But as soon as she was free, as soon as she could get her hands on some sort of weapon…

No!

She felt overwhelming anger at herself for even considering suicide.

You have a duty to the Varden, and to your people. How could you even think about that? Use logic!

She grit her teeth, and swore to herself that she wouldn't resort to that.

Not yet, at least.

She ignored her qualifier and tried again to think of something else. The anger was fading, and the intense, blinding pain was returning. She was still crying, she hadn't stopped in… she didn't know how long. Slowly the reality of what had happened was taking her over, and she started to lose it. First one sob, then another, and another… and then she couldn't help it. She was sobbing uncontrollably, though still quietly, gasping for air when she could. It was her fault. All her fault.

How could she have let this happen?! She would never see him again! Never see that smile, the one that held so much innocence in a world of horror. Never see his lithe body contorting as he pushed himself through a complex series of moves with his sword. Never hear his voice, his timeless laughter. Never see his eyes… Oh those eyes…. They were unfathomable, the most brilliant of blues. Sometimes full of life, but they changed so much. Sometimes they were youthful, bright. Other times they were the eyes of some old king who had walked through a lifetime of war, death, and responsibility. Even more they were the tired, frightened eyes of a farm boy, who held the fate of the country on his shoulders, the fate of millions of lives, and could never set his burden down. And now, for an hour, they had been they eyes of a lover, full of hope, forgetting the world.

She would never see those eyes again. He was gone.

She again closed her eyes. That one word working it's way through her mind, bringing the message to every part of thoughts. She tried to hide her happy memories of Eragon from the word, but she could not defend against her own mind, and it broke through. The memories, which had been content, sweet, joyful, suddenly turned painful and bitter. The word continued, finding the sound of his voice, the way he said her name, forever to be remembered, and they too became a curse. Every piece of him, and even of Saphira, in her mind was transformed, so that they were like fires in her thoughts, burning, stealing, until all she could think about was the pain of the flames, and the word that fueled them.

Gone.

The first thing she noticed when she next became aware of her surroundings was the faint sound of battle far overhead. She had fallen into the waking dreams, her sobs turning into yawns, and finally the deep, calm breathing of sleep. But her dreams had not been peaceful. Far from it. They had been fraught with endless nightmares of a dead Eragon, dreams of fears and torments. Dreams, that is, until she woke up; then they became reality.

Reality was cold. She shuddered at the sight of his body, there on the table. She realized that now, those dreams she had been so eager to escape were all that she had of him, all that she had left, and then she wanted them to return. Dreams were dreams, and when she was in them, they weren't nearly as real as feeling; they didn't hurt nearly as much. But of course, now that she wanted it, sleep was impossible.

She looked around her. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed. She had been utterly and completely exhausted, running on nothing. The only thing keeping her awake before had been Eragon. He had needed her. She wasn't about to fall asleep while he was being tortured. Now she felt, at the least, physically rested. Or, as rested as she could be. She knew somewhere that all of her uninjured systems had a sufficient amount of energy to run, but she herself felt none of it. She felt drained, as exhausted as before she had slept.

Then perhaps she hadn't slept at all. Had she? She was so tired… Maybe she hadn't slept. Maybe that had been back in the cell, with Eragon. No, she hadn't been with Eragon…

I was alone, then Durza came… he tortured me… killed Eragon… Gone…

She jolted awake again.

Snap out of it!

She had been falling back to sleep. Suddenly she feared that more than anything. Feared that she might lose herself in her mind. She concentrated as hard as she could on the impossibly distant sounds of battle, trying to decipher what was going on, anything to keep her away from the labyrinth of her own consciousness.

She could not hear much, only the blurred sounds of war. The sounds that result when men and elves clash together: swords striking, feet tromping, champions bellowing, wounded and dying crying out as one in pain until it blurred into that unearthly noise of torment and anger which was called battle…

She suddenly realized how alone she was.

It had probably had something to do with thinking about those that would die today… about there families, left alone. She was alone.

She had been mourning Eragon's death, yes, mourning that he was lost to her, but somehow her mind hadn't made that simple connection until now: she was completely and utterly alone. Her father was dead, so was Faolin. Her mother, though living, was so separated from her daughter that she too had passed away, or at least away from Arya. Eragon had been all she had left, there was no one else close to her, except for perhaps Saphira, but Saphira too would be gone. Yes, the Dragon would live on to help the Varden, at least physically, but her essence would have left with her Rider: she would be only a shadow, a shell of what she was. Arya was alone.

And she was scared.

Not of the war, or of what would happen now that the Varden's only hope was missing his pulse. Not even of what would happen if they lost this war. What was the worst thing that could happen? Death? No, not death, death would be peace at last. Slavery. Submission to her enemies. That would be terrible, yes, but not nearly as bad as if they won…

That possibility terrified her. Living on, for ages, alone. Watching as the humans who had been her fellow revolutionists, her comrades at arms, lived and died, as did their children, and their children's children... Watching as the elves she knew fell in love, and took mates, and had children of their own, and lived, and knowing that she never could. Being completely isolated, no matter if she lived in the center of Ellesméra. Because she knew that would be how it was. Her mind reminded her of what Eragon had said, that he wanted her to find someone to be with, to be happy again.

Well, guess what. I can't do that. I don't work like that. I've lost everyone. Everyone, you hear me?! And I'm not going to risk that again. I loved him. I can't do it, he was asking too much! I can't… I just can't.

She was miserable. Nothing was worse than this. Not even when Faolin died. She was completely and utterly empty, and there was only enough of her left to feel the pain and fear. The body on the table seemed to shine slightly in the darkness, the pale skin catching the soft glow of the dying embers. She looked again, her eyes tracing from the wounds in his wrists down to those in his ankles. Suddenly, her head snapped up. She had heard something.

There it was again. Footsteps, growing closer. Someone was coming. She felt a strange sense of anticipation as she realized that most of the fighting above had stopped. Someone was victorious. So there were two options. Either she was being rescued, or her tormentors were returning.

She realized that she didn't care which. Eragon was dead. That was all that mattered. So her expression hardly changed as hinges creaked and Nasuada, Blödhgarm, and Angela stepped through the door.


	10. No He isn't dead

Arya looked up slowly. Nasuada, Blödhgarm and Angela had paused by the door. There was a quiet gasp from someone- she wasn't sure who- as they surveyed her condition, but she didn't care. Blödhgarm, who was carrying a torch, was the first one to move. He covered the short distance between them in an instant, Nasuada and Angela following moments behind. As the glow from the torch fell on her she squinted slightly, unused to the light. Blödhgarm raised his hand and unlocked the chains around her wrist. She tried to step away from the wall, but her knees buckled. He caught her just before she fell.

"Easy, easy…"

He lowered her gently to the ground. Nasuada knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. Arya winced slightly as pain lanced across her back at the touch. Nasuada noticed her reaction and withdrew her hand, but she looked concerned, afraid.

"Arya, what happened?"

Arya just shook her head and raised a finger, pointing to the center of the room. She wanted to say something, to explain, but could think of nothing. So she just pointed. Angela took the torch from Blödhgarm and walked across the room. The light fell on Eragon's body as they fell to darkness. Her rescuers stared in shock. Angela let loose a loud stream of curses directed at those responsible. Silence followed. No one moved. All just stared at the body. Then Arya spoke, so quietly that at any other time it would have gone unnoticed. But here, far underground, with only the sound of their breathing, it echoed as if she had shouted.

"He is dead."

Nasuada's eyes widened.

"No… it cannot be…"

Arya pulled her legs up and hid her face in her knees.

My fault… gone…

"No. He isn't dead."

Arya slowly raised her head as the implications of those words sunk in.

"What?"

Angela pulled her hand away from Eragon's throat.

"Well, unless riders are different from the rest of us in that they have a pulse when deceased… Blödhgarm, I'll need your assistance in healing him. Just because he's alive now doesn't mean he will be if we don't do something rather quickly."

Blödhgarm murmured something to Nasuada as he stood, but Arya was back to not noticing. Eragon was alive? How could that be? She had observed his unmoving body for hours… Or had it moved? Suddenly she wasn't sure. Nothing was sure. She must have been mistaken. But after hours of watching, she still hadn't noticed her mistake? She didn't realize she had voiced her thoughts until Nasuada replied.

"The mind is a powerful thing, Arya. It can show you something that never was, so long as you believe it to be."

Had she truly fooled herself so much? But looking up at Angela and Blödhgarm, busy healing, she knew it must be. He was alive… She felt shocked. Unsure. Now that her senses had failed her once, she couldn't trust them again. Was any of this real? Surely it was, she was out of her chains…

Or I've gone mad…

Unfortunately, given the circumstances, that was appearing to be the more likely option. She looked up at Eragon, who, she now knew, was alive. If this was madness, perhaps it wasn't so terrible.

Nasuada reached out and took her upper arm gently.

"Arya, how badly are you injured?"

Arya looked up, and sighed.

"I am as well as can be expected, Nasuada. Nothing that cannot wait a while."

In truth, she hurt all over. Her ribcage killed her every time she moved. But Eragon was in far worse shape than she. She was not going to let them worry over her when every last bit of energy would be required to help the rider. Nasuada eyed her, eyebrows raised, as if she didn't really believe her. But, wisely, she chose to drop the subject, and instead picked up a leather bag that Arya had not previously noticed. Reaching in, Nasuada pulled out two blankets- one of which she handed to Arya- bread, fruit, and a water skin. Arya took the blanket gratefully and wrapped it around her front. She left her back uncovered: the moment anything touched it the deep cuts and bruises there flared up in protest. This did not go unnoticed by Nasuada either, she was sure. But as leader of the Varden Nasuada had apparently learned a great deal of diplomacy, for she still said nothing. Or at least she said nothing on that particular subject. Outside of that subject, the interrogation continued.

"When was the last time you had food or water?"

Arya had to stop and think. Food while prisoner she had no recollection of, because there had been none. They had both been forced to drink something a few times, presumably water, though it had been grayish and cloudy, with the occasional odd, slimy lump that she assumed was algae of some sort.

"Water… they gave us something to drink once or twice, I suppose. And I haven't eaten since we before we were captured."

Nasuada's eyes widened slightly as she handed Arya the water skin. Arya opened her mouth and poured some in. It was amazing. She had never really paid attention to how water tasted… In fact, she had always thought of water as tasteless. But now she had never tasted anything so wonderful in her life. It soothed her throat, rushing across her tongue in a cool current of liquid ecstasy.

"Drink it slowly at first, a little at a time… But, Arya… water once or twice? And nothing to eat? It's been five days, and…"

But the rest of her questions were lost on Arya. Five days. They had been down here five days. It had seemed like an eternity, lasting forever, except perhaps the rests, which had been far to short. She couldn't believe that all of that time, weeks it had seemed, had really amounted to so little…

"Only five days…" She murmured aloud.

Nasuada looked at her sympathetically, as if understanding how long they had really been down here. Eternity didn't cut it, five days certainly didn't. But, for the third time, she did not respond, and Arya realized that somehow this human girl understood that she wouldn't be able to talk about anything yet. That Arya had been through hell and was overwhelmed, and that had anyone asked, she would probably take his or her head off before she admitted it. Humbled slightly, (the word sounded strange in her own mind: humbled. Arya humbled. Huh.) she took the piece of bread that Nasuada was offering her, and attempted to turn her attention somewhere other than her pride-fall. Her mind was clearing now, and she was changing back from the frightened, confused elf she had been seconds ago. She was becoming herself again, and she would not spend her time running confused circles in her head.

As had happened so often lately, her attention turned automatically to Eragon. Blödhgarm stood near his head. The elf had removed the stakes from Eragon's wrists and ankles and was now muttering spells over the wounds, healing them at least to the point where they would no longer be a threat. Angela was working on the intense burns on Eragon's torso, spreading some kind of salve from a carved wooden box. A minute later, Blödhgarm stepped back, his face drained.

"I can do no more for now: I am too weary from the battle. We must return him to the surface and get him to more healers."

Angela nodded, and they began to scavenge around the room for anything to make a stretcher out of. Nasuada went to help them, and a few minutes later they had assembled a sturdy enough transport from two spear shafts and the other of the two blankets that Nasuada had brought. As carefully as he could, Blödhgarm lifted the unconscious Eragon off of the table, and Angela and Nasuada slid the stretcher underneath. Blödhgarm laid Eragon back down, and then went to grab one end of the stretcher, Angela taking the other. Nasuada watched from the side, making sure that Eragon was secure, before walking over to give Arya a hand up.

Arya rose slowly, wincing at the pain that flared up all over, but she walked steadily next to Nasuada as they crossed the room again, ignoring the pain. Eragon had to get out quickly. She and Nasuada stood on either side of the stretcher, ready to help steady it if need be. They didn't have worried. Blödhgarm had the grace and strength of and elf, and Angela, for all of her oddities, near that. The stretcher swayed easily, even on the stairs that started almost directly outside the chamber door. So Arya merely walked along, absorbing the fact that they were free, and that Eragon was alive. She wasn't alone; she wouldn't have to carry his last messages…

Suddenly a horrible thought struck her.

"Where is Saphira?"

She would have thought that the great dragon would have come immediately to search for her rider, and fact that she was not there was not a good sign.

"Ah. Yes," Said Angela, "Saphira is currently quite a few flights up from here, where the passage narrowed to the point that she could not pass. She was rather… disgruntled… to have to remain behind, and I assume in short order we will be able to hear her roaring and clawing the walls."

Relief flooded Arya. Saphira was all right. Her lover's second half was safe, and her freedom was complete.

They had been walking in silence for a few minutes when Eragon let out a low groan and opened his eyes. Arya watched carefully as he blinked a few times, bringing his vision into focus.

"Arya?"

His voice was hoarse and cracking, but it was his voice. His voice saying her name, saying it the way it was meant to be said. She smiled, and touched his hand, leaning over him slightly so that he could see her.

"Right here, Eragon. We're out. Nasuada and Angela and Blödhgarm found us. They healed you as best they can for now, and we're getting you to more healers. You're going to be okay. Saphira is waiting for us farther up: she couldn't fit down the passages."

"Arya…"

He didn't look like he had grasped a single word she had said beyond "found" and "okay", but that was understandable. His eyes were already closing again: he was exhausted. But then he did something Arya didn't expect, nor would have ever expected. He reached up with his good arm and placed it on the back of her neck, pulling her head down. Then, gently, he kissed her. She was shocked for a moment, hesitant to open up to him, but then she made her choice. She wasn't going to hide again. She smiled slightly and kissed him back. His hand slowly went slack against her neck, and when she rose he was unconscious again, but that didn't matter. She smiled more as she watched his face, and then looked up. She was greeted by three completely different reactions. Blödhgarm was looking straight ahead, as he had been the whole time, and seemed unsurprised that his princess had kissed the Rider. Angela was smirking, and when she caught Arya's eye she mouthed "it's about time!" Nasuada was looking between Eragon and Arya in shocked confusion, obviously having no idea how to react. Arya bit back laughter at that, (especially since she guessed that laughter would hurt her ribs a lot) and turned to face forward. Life was looking up.

It seemed to take a long time to reach the ground-level floors of Urû'Baen, but finally they did. As Angela had predicted, they had been hearing Saphira snarling angrily for a while, getting louder and louder as they approached. Finally they came around a corner, and there she was. Her head was through the door that had held her back, and she was growling furiously. The horrible screech of claws on stone could be heard from the other side. When the great Dragon saw her injured rider, the roar that followed was deafening, rebounding off of the stone walls and echoing throughout the castle.

Nasuada winced slightly, and looked at Saphira.

"Please, Saphira, not so loud. Would you repeat your questions?" The leader of the Varden nodded, and then turned to Arya.

"She wants to know why your mind slips through her grasp every time she tries to speak to you, and who has done this Eragon. I have answered the first question with what I assume is the correct response: that you are drugged, but the second I do not know myself."

Arya nodded slightly.

"A man that Eragon and I simply called "The Captain" was responsible, he and the soldiers in his command. The Captain ordered the soldiers, but they took great pleasure in what they did. The only one that did not seem to be enjoying the proceedings was the magician who was among them, but he did not help us, either. It was strange. You would have thought that Murtagh or even Galbatorix himself would have come to gloat, but they must have been too concerned with the war, too confident that we would never escape and that they could come later. We didn't see either of them…"

Nasuada nodded.

"I suppose that now is not the time for further details. You know that I am going to ask you for the full story later, Arya… not now, however. Let's get moving."

Saphira withdrew her head from the remains of the door and allowed the group to step through. Now that there were no more stairs, they moved more quickly. Arya was surprised at the lack of windows in the castle of Urû'Baen. Though the others said that they were on ground level, she saw no difference from the dungeons. It was dark, cold, and damp, the only encouraging difference being an increase in torches. Despite this, it was only minutes later that they were standing at a set of large, wooden doors. Arya realized that this was it. She was about to see sunlight when she had only seen darkness for five days. Nasuada reached out and pulled on the large, iron handle to open the left door. Arya squinted slightly, preparing for the bright light she was sure was coming.

It was dark outside. She was suddenly very confused, as she realized that she had had no idea what time it was. She had only assumed that it was day, but now she observed the sky. The stars were shining; the moon was low in the sky. Given the time of year, she guessed that it was a few hours past midnight. She felt oddly disoriented. Though it had been dark in the dungeons, she had always thought of it as day outside, and now she had to readjust her internal clock.

Saphira stretched her head out and sniffed Eragon impatiently. She growled again. Nasuada raised an eyebrow.

"Saphira, I'm not sure-"

But she didn't finish. Saphira reached out and grabbed the tattered back of Arya's tunic and lifted her up onto her back. Arya couldn't help the cry of pain as the sudden movement jarred her bruised and broken body. Thankfully, no one noticed: they were too busy. Nasuada and Blödhgarm were trying hopelessly to stop Saphira as she launched into the air, quickly but carefully grabbed Eragon's stretcher, and headed for the Varden's medical tent. As the three figures standing in the door of the castle of Urû'Baen shrank away, Arya's elven hearing caught Angela's amused remark.

"Don't bother. She knows that Eragon and Arya are injured, and she's bringing them to the medical tent. Not many people have stopped a Dragon protecting her Rider and lived. Let's just get moving. I don't trust half your healers, Nasuada…"


	11. AN SORRY

**Hey guys! I'm sorry I haven't updated! I really haven't been able to update because my grandpa is in critical condition. His liver is messed up. So my family and I have been accompanying him to the hospital.**


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